Page 122 of Milo

"Yes.” A small proud smile clips his lips. "It worked. They do not know we have him."

Him.

I shudder, pressing on. "You've been torturing Andre." It's not a question. "For what?"

"Many things."

"Such as?"

Milo expels a sigh. "For the location of their safehouse, the whereabouts of Igor, names of suppliers, contacts, affiliates."

"What's your endgame?"

"To take Moscow away from Pravda."

"Too vague. I need details."

Milo closes his eyes. "It is dangerous, Kiara. I do not?—"

"Tell me or I'm leaving.” Harsh? Perhaps. "Either you trust me, or you don't. Decide."

"Fuck," he grunts, running a hand through his dark hair. "You are being very unreasonable, tesoro. I am telling you more than I should already. Is it not enough?"

"No, it's not enough. I don't want half-truths. I don't want half-ass explanations. I want to know everything. I want the details."

"You are impossible.” His jaw clenches as he rests his forearms on his knees. "Kiara, please?—"

"Tell me.”

His dreary gaze meets mine as he reveals, "We will kill Igor and bomb their arms reserves."

Holy shit. I swallow. Knowledge is power. "When?"

"In a week from now," he grumbles, burrowing his face into his hands. "Before the New Year." He peers up at me through his rigid fingers. "Satisfied?"

"Almost.” Unease stirs in my belly. "Is—" I clear my throat. "Is Andre still alive?"

"Not for long."

Oh.

"Don't kill him," I whisper, my gaze flitting to the ground. "Turn him over to the Russian authorities. The families of his victims, they deserve justice."

"Tesoro," Milo hums, pushing himself off the bench and kneeling down in front of me. He grabs my hands, craning his head to meet my glossy eyes. "I cannot do that."

"Why not? You have all the information that you need, don't you? He deserves to rot in jail, Milo. Death seems almost like a gift. It's not fair. These families will live the rest of their lives thinking the man who murdered their daughters is still alive, breathing. That's not fair! That's not justice."

"Kiara, if we were to give Andre to the police, he would never see a day in prison," Milo cups my cheek, grazing his thumb along my hairline as he softens his tone. "He knows too much about the brotherhood. He would trade information for freedom and protection."

"That's fucked up," I croak. "That's not fair."

"I told you, tesoro," Milo hums regretfully. "We are not the only corrupt organization in the world. Your heart is in the right place but unfortunately, that is the truth."

I clench my teeth. “Did he suffer?"

"What?"

"Andre.” I swallow, a sinister sense of disgust rising in my throat. "When you were torturing him, did he suffer?"

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